by Rick Hautala
“Don’t ever sneak up on me like that again,” she said, laughing.
“What? Jumpy?”
Claire scowled.
“Sorry,” he said as he pulled his chair away from the table and sat down. A mischievous smile curled his mouth. “So.” He clapped his hands together. “You want dessert?”
Ah, the eternal question, Claire thought. Eat dessert…be happy…and get fat?…Or stick with the ole’ diet?
“Maybe split something?” she offered, trying to take the middle road.
“You like blueberry pie? They bake an incredible blueberry pie here,” Samael said.
“Sure. I love pie,” Claire replied, but before they could get the waitress’ attention, a steady, loud beeping sound suddenly filled the restaurant. Fear swept through the restaurant like a brush fire as everyone immediately recognized what it was.
A fire alarm.
The problem was…What to do about it?
For what seemed like entirely too long, everyone sat where they were, looking around as though they didn’t see the clearly marked fire exits and were expecting a waiter or the host to make an announcement—probably that it was a false alarm, and that nobody should panic.
But the fire alarm continued its high, piercing beep-beep-beep. In the hubbub, Claire couldn’t make out anything anyone around her was saying. She looked at Samael, desperate to take a cue from him. He remained seated and appeared to be unfazed by the sudden commotion around them. In fact, he seemed to be all but unaware of it.
“What do we do?” Claire asked, barely hearing herself above the din of the alarm. She didn’t want to panic…not in front of Samael, but she was worried because no one “official” seemed to be responding to the alarm. She leaned forward in her chair, waiting for him to say or do something.
“I doubt it’s anything to worry about,” Samael replied. She as much read his lips as heard him. “It’s probably a false alarm…faulty wiring, I’d guess.”
Claire bit down on her lower lip and nodded. It made sense not to panic even when several patrons arose from their tables and started for the door. When the first ones to get there opened it, a funnel of dense, black smoke was sucked into the restaurant. People staggered back, coughing as they scrambled away from the exit.
“Jesus!” Claire shouted.
She wasn’t positive she heard correctly, but she thought Samael mumbled, “He’s not going to help you now.”
They made intense eye contact as the uproar continued and intensified. Smoke was filling the room fast, now, and people were knocking over tables and chairs, spilling dishes and silverware onto the floor as they scrambled for another exit, away from the smoke and—possibly—flames. A doorway at the far end of the room was marked EXIT, but it was on the opposite side of the restaurant. Already it was clogged with a long line of people, trying to flee.
“The problem is,” Samael said calmly, “no one is sure yet where or how bad the fire is.”
Claire flashed on scenes of the sinking of the Titanic and was concerned that people might be running straight into danger, not away from it, but she and Samael remained where they were, watching the mayhem swirl all around them as if they weren’t the least bit involved. The expression on Samael’s face confused as much as reassured her. He looked both upset and…pleased, for some reason.
Like he’s enjoying the chaos, Claire thought.
“Well,” he finally said, pushing his chair back and standing up. He brushed his hands together, “I’d say lunch is on the house today, wouldn’t you?”
Forgetting her panic for a moment, she looked into his eyes and couldn’t help but smile. His eyes were an island of sanity in a sea of madness as smoke rapidly filled the room with a wide, dark pall.
“What are we going to—”
But that was all she got out, because all she could do was watch as Samael grasped the chair he’d been sitting in by the back and then approached the window that had offered such a nice view of the harbor. Without any hesitation, he heaved his body around to one side and then flung the chair toward the window.
The glass exploded into hundreds of shards that glinted in the sunlight as they spilled onto the carpeted floor and the restaurant’s boat deck outside. The absolute glee on Samael’s face made him look like a little boy setting off firecrackers on the Fourth of July. His teeth gleamed wickedly in the sun when he turned to her and, in a voice as steady and calm as if he were asking her to dance, said, “Shall we?”
The chaos in the restaurant faded away to nothing as he took Claire’s extended hand and led her toward the broken window. Her injured foot ached with a dull throb. By this point, someone had stopped the fire alarm, but Claire could hear the high, warbling wail of approaching sirens.
So this fire is really serious, she thought, but she was amazed that she wasn’t panicking like everyone else—everyone, that was, except Samael. He stood calmly by the broken window, holding her hand and smiling at her.
Heavy, black smoke filled into the restaurant now, and a sudden surge of panic made Claire hurriedly step through the broken window. The glass and pieces of the window frame snapped and cracked underfoot. Her enthusiasm dimmed when she saw the narrow walkway running the length of the floating restaurant. Between them and the parking lot…on dry land…there was a heavy curtain of smoke and the flicker of orange flames, like tongues. A crowd had gathered in the parking lot, and the early responders in black firefighters’ coats were coming down the gangway to the restaurant with firefighting equipment.
“Look!” Claire said, indicating the flames, shooting out from the restaurant between them and safety. “It’s blocked. We can’t go that way.”
Samael looked from her to the burning boat and then back to her again. His expression remained impassive, as if he were in complete control of the situation.
“Maybe coming this way wasn’t such a good idea,” she said.
“We may have to jump into the water and swim for it,” he said, smiling. “You don’t mind getting wet again, do you?”
She didn’t appreciate the dig about how she had looked last night walking a half mile or so in a downpour, but the good-humored gleam in his eyes reassured her, and she laughed along with him.
She couldn’t stop wondering why she wasn’t freaking out and how Samael was so calm…happy, even.
The fire was serious business. More fire trucks, their sirens wailing and emergency lights flashing, pulled into the parking lot. The crowd grew larger as more and more rubberneckers showed up. Tourists and residents alike were using their cameras and cell phones to snap pictures and film the event.
The walkway around the edge of the boat was narrow, and Claire was concerned that, with her injured foot, she might lose her footing and fall into the harbor. She looked down at the water, surprised to see—up close—how murky and dark and full of pollution it was. An iridescent rainbow pattern of oil swirled along the surface. When she noticed a partially submerged beer bottle bobbing up and down on the swells, all she could think about was the other horrible, yucky stuff—both natural and man-made—that had to be down there.
She’d need shots if she ever fell into that water.
A deep trembling fear filled her gut. But when she looked at Samael, those feelings—well, if they didn’t go away exactly, they certainly subsided.
Samael had that way about him.
“What do you think?” he asked, still smiling like this was just another normal part of his day.
When Claire took a step away from him, pain shot up her leg from the wound on her foot. Tears filmed her eyes as she realized exactly how dangerous this situation truly was. She wondered about the other people in the restaurant…had they all gotten out safely? Or were they trapped inside as the smoke filled the room and flames swept toward them? They’d die of asphyxiation before the flames got them.
This wasn’t a casual adventure…a harmless lark.
This was some serious shit.
“Come on, then,” Samael
said. He lunged forward and grabbed her by the wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong and actually burned her skin as he jerked her forward so hard she almost lost balance.
Is he purposely trying to make me to fall? She wondered, but she felt remarkably light, like a silk scarf, as he pulled her along with him. By this time, flames were licking out of one of the portholes. As they approached it, Claire could all too easily imagine that both she and Samael would be incinerated, but she had to trust him.
Didn’t she?
She realized—again—that she was putting an awful lot of faith into someone she barely knew.
Her feet kept slipping and sliding on the deck. The soles of her shoes made loud squeaking noises, like sneakers on a basketball court. She felt as though she were balancing on a tightrope.
Don’t look down!
They were about halfway to the front of the boat when the porthole in front of them suddenly blew open with a flash. Flames and broken glass exploded like shrapnel in front of them, sizzling as it splashed into the harbor. Claire screamed and shied away, but Samael kept moving ahead, getting closer to the tongue of flame that was now licking up the side of the boat. It was almost invisible against the bright blue sky.
Do not look down!
Claire tried to shut out the commotion all around her. She had to focus on taking one step at a time and holding on to Samael. Every other step was like stepping onto a nail. But she had to trust him.
As he approached the virtual wall of flame, Claire looked up, thinking they may have to climb onto the roof of the boat in order to get away, but who was to say the fire wasn’t worse up on the roof. Paint on the side of the boat began to bubble up and peel away as the heat inside the restaurant rose higher and higher.
The whole thing’s gonna blow up…We’re all gonna die, Claire thought.
Tears now filled her eyes when she wondered how all of her friends and family and coworkers were going to react when they heard how she had died. The thought passed through her head that it was at least better than dying a slow, painful death with cancer…or Alzheimer’s.
But dying by fire?
She had heard or read somewhere that burning was one of, if not the most painful way to die because you inhaled the flames, and they incinerated your lungs before you died, so you couldn’t scream or cry for help. You couldn’t even breathe. Of course Samael, being a demon, could have told her a lot about it, but she didn’t know that yet.
She looked down at the water again, thinking it might be better to take her chances by jumping in, but Samael kept pulling her forward relentlessly, closer…and closer to the flames that were blasting from the broken porthole and ripping up the side of the restaurant.
When they got there, the fire didn’t seem as bad and, as Samael passed by the window first, amazingly, the fire seemed to abate for a second or two in order for him to pass.
“Hurry up,” he called back over his shoulder, still holding her hand.
Claire’s heart was racing now, and waves of dizziness swept over her, but she focused on where to place her feet—step by careful, painful step. She crouched low when she went past the open window, fully expecting a blast of heat flame to turn her into a charcoal briquette.
When she was beside the window, she looked inside for a split-second glimpse into hell. What had been a beautiful upscale restaurant mere minutes ago was now a raging inferno. The walls and floor were engulfed with flame. Fire had stripped the walls down to the frame. Chairs and tables that had been shoved out of place and overturned as the patrons had fled were blazing like torches. She thought she saw a slumped human shape sprawled on the floor, its clothes burning, but she couldn’t be sure. Samael kept a firm hold on her hand and guided her forward.
When they got to the front of the boat, they mingled with the last few stragglers who were lurching out of the restaurant, waving their hands in front of their faces as they made their way up the gangplank. Only when she was a reasonably safe distance away from the fire did Claire let her guard down. She looked at Samael, who still appeared unfazed by what they had just gone through.
Hell, his hair was barely mussed, and no sweat or soot smudged his face the way it did all the other survivors. The firefighters were quickly knocking down the blaze before it spread to the wharf or other buildings, but a good-sized portion of the floating restaurant was severely damaged. A column of black smoke rose like a pillar into the blue sky. People were being treated onsite for smoke inhalation, and ambulances were speeding from the parking lot with the most seriously affected people.
With Samael at her side, Claire sat down on the asphalt and watched it all, trying to take it in. She was swept up by a powerful sensation that none of this was really happening.
How could it be?
She had to be dreaming…or imagining this.
News and camera crews were already on the scene—
How did they get here so fast?
—and were busy interviewing survivors while filming the blaze.
“Do you want to go to the hospital?” Samael asked after a long, silent moment.
“Not again,” she said, lowering her head.
It struck Claire as rather odd the way he was surveying the situation. With his arms folded across his chest, he was smiling faintly—a look of what Claire could only describe as contentment or, perhaps, thinly veiled amusement. The firelight flickered wickedly in his eyes, making them appear golden.
“Amazing…absolutely amazing,” he said, shaking his head slowly from side to side.
Claire still couldn’t get over the simple fact of what had happened and the crazy…yes, crazy…and dangerous way they had escaped. Her stomach ached with a cold, hollow dread whenever she thought about how they might have died in there.
Finally, Samael looked at her earnestly and extended his hand to help her stand up. Claire was certain her legs—especially her wounded foot—weren’t going to support her, but somehow—with Samael’s help—she stood up.
There was a sudden roar as flames tore through the restaurant where the kitchen, apparently, had been. Moments later, a large portion of the outside wall collapsed inward, sending up a spiraling shower of sparks. They looked like fireflies dancing in the daytime. The restaurant barge lurched to one side and then suddenly began to sink in the shallow water. It went down fast and came to rest with the upper deck lying at the water line. Blackened debris and a wide oil slick rose and fell on the gentle swell of the water.
Claire looked at Samael and was about to say something about how unbelievably lucky they were to make it out of there alive when her stomach suddenly lurched. A cold, sour taste filled the back of her throat, and then—without any more warning—she dropped to her knees, hitting the pavement hard, and began to vomit.
Chapter
4
Trapped
“I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day,” Claire said as they stood outside the door to her apartment.
Before leaving the scene, they had to give statements and leave their names, addresses, and phone numbers with the authorities. Obviously, the Fire Marshal would have to investigate to find out what caused the fire. After that, Samael drove Claire home. It was time for her medication, anyway, and she knew she should lie down and rest. The thought crossed her mind—several dozen times, in fact—that she should invite Samael upstairs, but there was no way she felt like entertaining…much less consider jumping into bed together.
Besides, he had ditched her twice already, so if he felt a bit of rejection, let him. If he thought taking her to a fancy restaurant and then saving her life—literally—when a fire broke out was his ticket into the sack, then—as her mother used to say—he had “another think coming.”
Still, Claire lingered in the entryway of her apartment because she didn’t want to say goodbye to him just yet.
The truth was, she did feel safer and more secure when he was with her. She couldn’t begin to identify what, exactly, she was feeling, but it both frigh
tened and intrigued her.
Attraction?
Hell, yes. Just look at him. Who wouldn’t be attracted to him?
Love?
Don’t be ridiculous.
She may say—even now, after everything that happened—that she believes in love at first sight; but over the last few years, her experience had been that it was more like lust at first sight.
Let love develop slowly…always a good—and nearly impossible—thing.
Horny?
Again—Sure…look at him. He had a fantastic body—slim and well-toned, and she tingled with anticipation at the mere prospect of making love to…with him and seeing if he could deliver as good as he looks.
So what was it that made her not want to let him go…not yet, anyway?
Maybe never.
He seemed reluctant to leave, too, but she felt an inner sting when she remembered how crushed she had been last night when, even though he saved her from her attacker, he had not been there—twice—when she had expected and needed him to be.
What were the chances he was already married…or in a serious relationship…or—is it possible?—that he was gay and interested in her for nonsexual reasons?
It hurt her head trying to figure it all out, but before she keyed the door lock, she turned to him and slid her arms around his waist, pulling him close. She could feel the hardness of his body against her, the heat of his breath on her face, and the sensations took her breath away. When she looked up into his eyes—as dark as coals in the shadowed alcove…no golden glint now—all she could think was how amazing it would be to be lying in bed naked with him.
Not right now…not today.
But soon.
Fighting an urge to do more to him, she brought her mouth up close to his and, closing her eyes, kissed him long and strong. At first, the kiss was chaste, but then she parted her lips and playfully darted her tongue between his teeth.
He responded in kind, and his tongue slid into her mouth, wiggling back and forth…probing…teasing…tasting.
